


when you realise

by bellamyslady



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamyslady/pseuds/bellamyslady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the college au that no one asked for</p><p>or</p><p>in which bellamy holds clarke’s hand properly for the first time while watching when harry met sally</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you realise

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](http://malietates.tumblr.com/post/122023588276) and beta-ed by the lovely val. none of my work would exist without her.

“No wonder you’re majoring in arts. You have such long fingers. I bet they aren’t as long as mine.” The day Bellamy had captured her hand and stroked her fingers, spreading her palm open, Clarke’s heart had fluttered like an unrestrained butterfly and she couldn’t swallow. They were having lunch. Her throat was so dry, she had to cough a couple of times before she could say anything.

“What do my fingers have to do with the arts?” Clarke fought a shiver as his fingers circled her wrist, his thumb pressed against her pulse.

They had only known each other for two months. Clarke was the resident’s assistant of his sister’s dorm and he was the overprotective brother who wouldn’t allow her to do her job. He entered her room at unannounced moments, often scaring her senseless, demanding that she pay attention to Octavia and watch her like a hawk.

A month in, Octavia had been caught with alcohol in her purse and a boy in her room after hours, breaking the rules of Ark House. Of course, Clarke had notified Bellamy and from that day on, the two of them worked together to keep Octavia out of trouble—which was tough, seeing as she loved breaking rules, especially when it involved alcohol, curfew and boys.

“Long fingers means a good artist.” He was nonchalant as he held up her hand and then pressed his palm to hers. At the contact, all she could think about were how rough his hands were in contrast to her smooth palms, how the callouses on his fingers from fixing cars over the summer scrapped against her skin. And then, all she could think about was those hands on her naked skin.

Suddenly, he startled her by exclaiming, “Hah! Your hand is smaller! I win! You’ve gotta go get me a soda now.”

“What? I don’t have to get you a soda, you lazy ass. Go get it yourself.”

He had been comparing hand sizes with Clarke ever since, especially when they were working together in the common room and he was bored with his Literature essays. He’d always try to get her to buy him a soda and she’d throw her pen at him or whatever small object she had lying around.

It happened so often that Clarke had grown accustomed to the feel of his fingers against hers. It no longer set her senses on fire and made her skin tingle. And she had forgotten what the first time he took her hand had felt like. It was just another moment to mark the day and some times, if Bellamy didn’t compare the sizes of their hands, she felt a little empty inside.

Today was one of those days when he hadn’t asked to compare their hand sizes and tried to get her to buy him a soda. But, he had invited himself into her room, bearing When Harry Met Sally and a giant tub of popcorn. “When Harry Met Sally? I didn’t think you were into romantic comedies.”

“Octavia once made me sit through it. I love it. Don’t tell the guys about this.” He was referring to his team mates on the swim team.

“I’ve never seen it.”

“Plebeian.” That was when Clarke had snatched the popcorn from him and hogged it.

They were seated side by side on Clarke’s couch, her laptop open in front of them as they watched Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan act out the longest slow-burn movie in the entire world. They weren’t brushed up against each other, the space between them comfortable but not intimate. Clarke was hugging her knees to her chest, cradling the bucket of popcorn. Bellamy had his legs stretched in front of him, slouching low on the couch with his hands folded on his chest.

It was the final scene of When Harry Met Sally and Billy Crystal’s character was about to confess his love with Meg Ryan’s character. “Hey, Clarke. Do you think your hand has grown since the last time I saw you?”

“Shh. He just said he loves her.” Clarke’s eyes never left the screen, her hand shovelling popcorn into her mouth a mile an hour.

He knew this movie like the back of his hand, knew every word and knew every moment. But watching Clarke eat popcorn, with her dishevelled hair in a rough ponytail at the nape of her neck and the day-old shirt and shorts she when she was painting, Bellamy wanted to hold her. He thought he loved the girls with their heavy perfumes, their pretty painted faces and their designer jeans but rather, he found himself drawn to Clarke and the lingering scent of the vanilla perfume she had probably sprayed on yesterday.

“Just give me your hand.” He held out his hand, his eyes no longer on the screen but rather, watching her.

Clarke rolled her eyes and reluctantly held out the hand she had been eating popcorn with. It was gross but he was being annoying just when possibly the most important moment in the movie was playing. “Happy?” she asked, turning back to her laptop and began eating popcorn with her other hand, balancing the bucket perfectly between her knees and chest.

Bellamy didn’t answer her. Instead, as Billy Crystal began saying, “ _I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out_ ”, he began to play with her fingers, stroking each one to the tip of her short nails until her hand relaxed in his. When Billy Crystal said, “… _because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody_ ”, Clarke’s heart raced in her chest, not because the character’s speech brought tears to her eyes but because Bellamy was doing The Thing. She never knew that her hand so many nerve endings that connected to the juncture of her thighs until Bellamy began stroking her fingers in the most infuriatingly sensual way.

When Meg Ryan said, “…you make it impossible for me to hate you”, Clarke had forgotten about the entire movie. She turned to Bellamy and asked, “What exactly are you doing?”

He placed her hand on top of his, tilting both their hands slightly so that she could see the difference. “Your hand hasn’t grown at all. This means that you owe me a soda. Especially after the way you attacked the popcorn.”

“How many times to I have to tell you? I am not getting you your soda. You’ve just made me miss the ending!” Clarke growled lowly at him, annoyed that his games had made her miss the most pivotal point of the movie where she had been crying. “Now we have to watch it again.”

She was about to pull her hand away to replay the ending when Bellamy’s fingers slid over hers slowly, locking their hands together, his palm flush against hers. Clarke’s cheeks coloured and she froze for what seemed to be the longest time ever, just staring at their hands, locked together, and resting on the space between them. It wasn’t until Bellamy, with a smirk, said, “Come on. Play the ending again. The credits are already rolling. Hurry!”

Clarke replayed the ending, watching him all the time but not pulling their hands apart because it felt good. Too good. Bellamy, on the other hand, didn’t look at her but instead, focused on the screen as Billy Crystal met Meg Ryan on the dance floor. Clarke leaned back against the couch, her popcorn bucket abandoned. As he told her he loved her, Clarke squeezed Bellamy’s hand gently. She looked up at him, still wearing the smirk, his eyes trained on the screen as if it was the first time he had seen the movie.

When they kissed, Clarke slid a little closer to him, their thighs touching and their clasped hands now balanced on her knee. As the movie ended, Clarke said, “Let’s watch it again.”

When they replayed the movie, she was tucked into his side with his arm around her shoulder, playing idly with her hair.


End file.
